


As Above, Love In Below

by DanTanner20



Series: Survivors In The Gloom [1]
Category: Historical RPF, Russian Royalty RPF
Genre: A.I Dungeon, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Christian Character, F/M, Grief/Mourning, One Shot, Prayer, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanTanner20/pseuds/DanTanner20
Summary: The account of a White-Movement Russian Sympathizer stumbling across the last survivor of the Romanov massacre: Olga. As they get to know each other, they realize that Russia is not the only thing worth fighting for.
Relationships: Olga Nikolaevna Romanova / Original Male Character
Series: Survivors In The Gloom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102625
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	As Above, Love In Below

It is a July night of 1918. I am walking through the forests around Ekaterinburg when I see an unconscious woman lying down on a hardened dirt road. She looks like she has been dead for some time, but I touch her neck. It is still warm.

She is lying on the ground, dressed in a white dress and dirtied black skirt. The fabric is covered with bloodstains and the dress has rips. She wears no stockings, only some socks and black shoes.

I look closer, and I try to deduce where she came from. Who was she? Was she of the proletariat or the bourgeoisie in Russia? I do not know anything about this woman. I have no idea what class she belonged to.

Then, I look at her wrist, which has a gold bracelet with "Olga" engraved in it. I feel her wrist. My eyes widen when I feel a faint pulse under her skin.

There is a shock of adrenaline as I yank my hand away. This woman is alive, and not just that! She is the former Grand Duchess Olga Nikoleavna Romanova! I look around, making sure that no one is nearby.

I think about what happened. Perhaps the Soviets had done the unthinkable: the execution of the Tsar's family. Even if the White Russians took my city, they would find nothing. If this woman is Olga, she is the only one left of the Romanov dynasty.

I feel conflicted. Her father had dragged Russia into this horrid Great War… yet… I feel pity for the unconscious woman. I gently nudge her shoulder. She revives and opens her eyes to reveal cornflower blue irises.

"Who are you?" she asks, looking at me. "What are you doing here?"

I chuckle, knowing that Her Former Highness Olga was a curious, intelligent one. The newspapers would often speak of her headstrong nature and her intellect as well. I answer that I am a middle class Russian working in a woodworking shop.

"I am Olga," she whispers, "eldest daughter of the late Emperor Nicholas II."

"Yes, I have figured that out,” I whisper back.

I look around the empty forest with my gray eyes. I look at her, and I whisper, "I presume that the Soviets wanted your family dead... yet I would like to help you. Not all of us support the revolution."

"I have formerly supported the Bolsheviks, but now... I realize that they are no better than the former government, willing to kill without mercy.”

She gasps. "You're one of the Whites that my family has heard about?"

I speak, "No, Miss Romanova, but I sympathize with them. I may die doing this, but I need you to come with me. You need shelter, immediately!"

"I need to get out of Russia," she says in a shaky tone, sitting up.

I nod, and I lift her up to stand.

Olga stands up with a groan, and a glimpse of her round face tells me that she is tired. Her eyes are still reddened, perhaps from crying. I take her hand, and with a glance over my shoulder to ensure that no one is watching, we turn and head into the night.

I lead Olga to a truck loaded with logs. After we board it, I stomp on the pedal, and off the vehicle went. Feelings of fear flow through you. What am I doing- no, this is for a good purpose. For it seems that we are not the only ones running from the terrible ripples of the October 1917 Revolution.

As night turns to dawn, we arrive at my forest home: a small cabin.

"This is my home, miss. We will hide here until the Whites reach Ekaterinburg," I whisper to her. She nods, with her blue eyes twinkling with something. Hope.

After I park the truck, I open the door for Olga. She looks as if she might fall asleep standing up, but I pick her up anyway and carry her inside.

The former grand duchess looks at my stove, where a lukewarm pot of stew sits. She looks at me, and asks me if she could have food. I nod to her, and I sit down at the table.

The kitchen is silent as she takes a seat. I tell Olga that I will heat the stew. And so I do. It is a silent dinner, as we hardly speak a word. Perhaps I just did not know whether this was some dream or miracle... or perhaps I was afraid that if I questioned it, it would disappear.

The grand duchess eats slowly, and when she is finished, she puts the spoon in the pot.

She takes the pot to the sink to wash it, and I thank her. "I did not know that you were that well-raised," I said. She mutters that her mother taught her to do some chores. I could see tears rolling down her cheeks. It seems that the woman just does not want to cry. She seems stronger in spirit and mind than I thought. Only when I lead her to my bedroom is when she begins to cry.

She asks me for my name. "Yeltsin Pavel Korsakov, miss." She thanks me, and sniffles. I sit on my chair and wait for her to fall asleep. When she finally does, she looks so peaceful... so innocent.

I feel as if my heart will explode from the pounding of my chest.

Shit. If the local Cheka comes to my home, we are dead, I think.

I eventually fall asleep. I wake up five hours later. It is morning, and a small smile graces her face. I watch her, and her smile disappears. "Mama, Papa, don't leave." My heart almost breaks hearing those words. She is having a morbid flashback.

Olga stirs in the bed, and begins to kick under the blankets. "Get off of me!" she yells.

I get up with a sigh, and I touch her. She screams when she wakes up. She slaps my face, and I wince.

"It is only a dream, you are alright," I quickly say.

Olga widens her eyes in fear. "I am terribly sorry... for slapping you," she says, her voice trembles slightly.

She sits there, in silence. The memory of a young girl with her sister in black and white photographs haunts me. That girl was Olga. Her closest sister was Tatiana.

I say "It is fine. You have been through many things that I cannot think of."

"It's alright..." Her voice trembles.

I lead her to the bathroom, so she can clean off the dirt and grime off her body. I hand her a new dress, my late sister's. She smiles at me before closing the door. Some time later, she steps out in her new dress, looking cleaner... and smelling cleaner. I smile. The former grand duchess certainly appears better now, and those beautiful blue eyes are no longer reddened. I silently make an oath to protect this young, tragic woman. My heart beats faster as I look at her slender figure again. I turn away. No, she would not want me… it is too soon.

Olga is obviously tired from the night before. It is inevitable that the Cheka will come looking for her, and I shudder. She looks at me with a frown, her eyebrows scrunched together.

"Are you feeling well? You must be very tired, Mister Korsakov,” she says.

I reply that I am fine. I warn her that we are in danger from the Soviet Cheka. There is no doubt they have sent men to look for Olga. I say that she should stay in the house for a few days, until we are safe.

"You must be on your guard, and keep your lips closed. Never utter a careless word if you want to live," I say.

She nods, and we return to the living room.

"Do you have any alcohol, Mister Korsakov?" she asks in a timid voice.

I smile and I grab out a bottle of beer. We eat breakfast without a word, and sip from our beer cups. I think of what to do. I decide that Olga will hide in the basement for two days. If the Cheka search for many days without success, then they will stop. I tell Olga my plan.

"Are you sure, Mister Korsakov?" she asks after I finish.

I nod. Olga nods back, and we finish our breakfast. Suddenly, the door pounds, shaking on its hinges. We both freeze, and I clearly see Olga shudder.

“This is the Cheka! Open the door!" a man yells.

I show Olga a hidden trapdoor in the living room. She opens the trapdoor and steps down into the room below. I close the trapdoor and place a rug and chair over it, hoping that this will work. I show the intruders that I am alone. They search around the cabin, and look in each of the rooms. They come out sometime later, and nod at me.

"You should clean your bed more often, Mister Korsakov. A true revolutionary works hard," one soldier states, staring me in the eyes.

I nod calmly. The officer speaks with the soldiers, and he decides that there is nothing in my cabin worth mentioning. However, the officer raises his eyebrows, noticing that there are two cups on the table. He asks me if I have a basement, narrowing his eyes. I calmly tell him that the previous cup I left there was from the previous night. I make up a plausible story on how I had done some yard work until I was weary. The officer tells a soldier to investigate the cup. The soldier feels the cup, saying that it is still cool. The officer stares at me for a few moments, until he nods and pats me on the back.

"Come on, let's go," he says to the soldiers.

They leave, and I exhale out of my nose slowly. I close the door as the search squad board their truck. Just to ensure that Olga and I are safe, I peek through my window. The truck is driving away. I open the door, and go downstairs. Olga sits on the floor of the secret room, her body shaking in fear. She holds a knife in shaking hands.

I tell her that the Cheka are gone. She puts the knife back into its holder, and she sighs in relief.

(Line Break)

A few days pass after the close encounter with the Bolshevik agents. Finally, the White Army comes to our house. They ask me for any hideaways, and that their agents in the area have known that the Romanovs were murdered.

I tell them, "There is one last one."

They look at me. The officer says, "I don't think you'll have to worry about the Red Army anymore, they are retreating from Yekaterinburg as we speak. Now I ask you, who survived?"

"Olga, the Whites are here!" I yell into the hallway.

Olga runs out of my bedroom into the living room. She falls to her knees, and she begins to sob in relief. "Thank you all! Thank you so much!"

The officer, a woman with blonde hair, enters my room with two other soldiers. I tell them the story of how the Red Army killed my friends, and how I found Olga. The blonde woman takes out a small cigar and lights it. I tell her everything. She tells me to stand up, and I do so willingly. She salutes me, saying that I have done a great deed for the good of Russia. They take me and Olga with them as they leave the house. Olga and I are seated in an armored truck, driving to the Ipatiev House. We walk through the now captured mansion. I ask Olga where the basement is, but she bursts into tears again.

"They killed my Mama, my Papa... and my sisters... and little Alyosha," she said, between her sobs.

I hug her. She sobs into my soldier as the soldiers around me give her looks of pity and sorrow. She is truly the last of her immediate family, an orphan cast away from the life she once knew.Her uncles must have also perished. As we find the cellar, we find that it is filled with bullet holes and shell casings. Dry blood stains cover the floor. Olga cries louder, tearing herself away from my arms and lying on the floor, covering her eyes. It is the sound of a shattered heart and wounded soul in agony. There are few things that make a human cry. One of them is the death of a parent. Sadly, this hapless woman had lost all of her immediate family. The officer offers her a chance to pray for the souls of her dead siblings and parents.

Olga says, "Y-Yes, Officer Yulia..."

I nod.

The officer, Yulia, sits beside the shaking girl on the floor. They begin to pray to God and Christ. I sit back and watch Olga for a moment. The soldiers sing hymns that I had sung as a boy, and even in secret in my cabin. God save the Romanovs.

They sang them as a song of joy. They sang them as a final cry for help as if to salute the lives lost under the Bolsheviks. Olga and I sing along for what seems like an hour.

At last, we kneel in silence. We bow our heads in quiet reflection. Finally, I stand and salute the three emissaries. They lead us out of the dimly lit, messy cellar. I look at Olga, and I feel a strange feeling. My heart felt as if it was dropping into my bowels. I feel very fond of her now. I remember the conversations we had in my cabin, and the board games we played. I remember how she would look at me constantly. Now, I feel as if I am staring into the eyes of the only person in this world that can understand me. I cannot imagine a life without her. Hopefully, she feels the same, that we are more than two survivors.

We walk through the mansion, out into the courtyard. A group of soldiers stand there, cleaning their weapons and putting away their equipment into boxes. Officer Yulia leads us to a truck to sit in.

"We offer safe passage for you and your companion to Vladivostok," she says. "You can meet with the Americans there. I can say that Russia is long past its age of Tsars and Tsarinas. It is for the best."

I look at Olga, especially her dark blonde hair shining in the early morning light. She still looks quite beautiful. The former grand duchess looks back at Officer Yulia. She thinks for minutes, stoking her chin. Then, she changes her facial expression into one of joy. Her blue eyes are shining with a light of genuine happiness, and her mouth curls in a smile.

“ _ Da, _ Officer Yulia. Ensure that  _ we _ get there,” Olga says, her voice filled with a strength that I never expected.

I look at Olga, who looks back at me. We then hug each other. Yes, there is definitely something I can fight for… her love. Our hearts beat hard, and we slowly lean towards each other. Her lips meet mine in a slow, gentle kiss, lingering on mine for what seems like an eternity... a pleasurable one that I do not want to stop. After we pull apart, the soldiers cheer, and I could see Officer Yulia blush.

"Let's go, Miss Romanova," she says.

We get into the truck, and off we go... to a new life.

**The Beginning!**

**Author's Note:**

> This was once an A.I generated story on A.I Dungeon. Even with my editing, please forgive me for any small typos!
> 
> Also, some historical inaccuracies remain for the sake of the plot... this was just something I thought of on the spot.


End file.
